The Swiss Liason
by Dean Flisst
Summary: Bond's latest adventure


Chapter 1 – The Embassy Party  
  
The man that stood outside, leaning on the building was British. You couldn't tell by the look of him, he wore a sharp black tuxedo and had gelled back jet black hair. He leant with one foot and his back against the cold, hard brick wall; he was smirking, he had no reason to though, he was alone outside the British Embassy in Berne, on a freezing November evening.  
  
Presumably the only reason for his happiness was in awe of the auto he had arrived in – a British luxury car, a sportier companion to Rolls-Royce, the Bentley. A green 4.5 litre sat amid the other distinguished cars, each owned by a different wealthy party guest. The Bentley stood out from the Italian and American cars with a very British appearance, and the SIS gadgetry – room for a Colt 45 in a trick compartment under the driver's seat added to its prominence. There was a reason for the man's being there, this too though was nothing to smirk about. This man was a spy, working for the British Secret Intelligence Service, undercover and unrecognisable to the passers by in the snow. This man's name was James Bond, agent 007, the '00' giving him a licence to kill; this was why he carried a loaded Beretta .25 in his jacket holster. For this assignment he had also been equipped with a silencer and a garrotte wire that he kept in his trouser pocket. He was suave, his attitude was calm and his presence was gentlemanly, he kept his cool throughout his wait, this was what made him unique. He wasn't just one of the team; he had a personality and a manner that would flabbergast even the average gentleman. A brunette woman was walking up the street towards Bond, she had a kick in her step and Bond could tell she wasn't as courteous as she appeared to the naked eye, she was adventurous, and the scarlet dress and black high heels gave her an edge. An edge Bond liked in his women. She was like a breath of life in a black and white movie; her slim figure, wrapped in a red dress that fell to just above her ankles, and a black jacket that hung around her shoulders. The pearls around her neck and the silver rings she wore were her way of showing she was valuable. And by the look of the gentleman accompanying her down the traffic less street, she was rich beyond caring how expensive the clothes and jewellery she wore were. His name was Rixel Vice, he was one of the seven Bundesräte, the executive authority in Sweden, and his field was customs. He had been employed by the Bundespräsident – the president of the authority in August 1958 after the sudden death of Hertz Full, the loyal and patriotic head of the customs department since the end of the war. Vice was well looked upon, a national protagonist in politics, he kept quiet and hadn't taken grasp of any foreign issues or trade imports; he had been in power for only a few months now and he had balanced out his numbers of fans with enemies. The Soviets didn't like him; he had lived in Moscow as a junior reporter during the war and then he left as whispers of a Cold War drew closer. MI6 has a file on him at the London headquarters. James Bond had been briefed earlier on by the head of the Secret Intelligence Service – M. "Now Bond, we want you to go to Berne and get into the embassy unnoticed, this Rixel Vice isn't all he seems. During his Soviet stay, we had an agent witness him meeting with a man who has been identified as a Czechoslovakian named Kronsteen, he is an esteemed chess grand master; but we also think that he is a member of the Special Executive for Crime, Terror, Revenge and Extortion – also known as SPECTRE. We know this because a section 200 agent, Hormel, listened in on the conversation between the two. They have met on various occasions, the last being in October, outside the city of Livorno in Italy, presumably, their global meeting places are to prevent any links been made between the two, and as we have no hard evidence, we cannot accuse Vice of anything. On Hormel's specifics we know that Vice will be attending a celebration party at the British embassy in Bern on the evening of November 13th. I want you to go there, dressed as a guest and get some hard evidence on Rixel Vice; prove there is a link between him and SPECTRE. Hormel will be there, as will 005 to accompany you." "How will I know it's them? All Section 200 are always inconspicuously dressed." "Agent Hormel will be posing as a waiter around the bar area, and 005 has been briefed to dress like you, smart." Bond nodded and left the office on Vauxhall road.  
  
Chapter 2 – Out of the Cold  
  
Now he was here, outside the embassy, the noise of the already started party echoing within. The woman who was with Vice looked at Bond as she passed over the threshold of the entrance, she winked, Bond grinned and followed them in.  
  
The receptionist who took down the names of the guests smiled at Rixel Vice and his shiny Tuxedo with bowler hat as they passed without comment; Bond held back and waited for the woman to go in, he followed, and glazed a stern look across his face, he put his hand in his jacket and looked around the room as though checking for eavesdroppers. The receptionist froze, he caught Bond's eye and nodded; Bond didn't have an invitation and wondered if 005 had got in successfully; posing as a bodyguard would make sense when you were with Vice, so the man behind the stand with his logbook didn't ask questions.  
  
After he branched off from Vice, Bond's breath was caught at the sheer brilliance of the room he was in. It seemed that the party would be held here, there was a sweeping staircase ahead, with mahogany banisters that started and ended with an eagle's head. The gloss reflected the dazzling light that bore down from the crystal chandelier above. The carpet on the stairs fell over them like a sheet, it was a deep purple and looked untouched. The walls were golden, which matched the rug on the floor – it must have been 70 feet wide and long – for it was nearly touching the sides of the magnificent hall. In the furthest corner and to the right sat a pianist; dwarfed by the black grand piano he sat at playing Guillaume de Machaut's The Mirror of Narcissus, the keys echoed around the room and laid down a feel of ease and created a friendly and social atmosphere. There were around 30 guests, faces Bond recognised and some he didn't want too; at the top of the stairs looking down on the crowd were two men, one was a waiter, who had the same shade rose in his breast pocket as Bond, the man he was with was startling to the eye: from the distance Bond was at, the man still stood out. He was in his mid 40s, he had wrinkles on his brow and black hair that was merging into a grey towards the bottom on the left side of his head; he was either Italian or French, and he had a European tan and the look of a person who had recently been back to his homeland. The lump in the left and right side of his brown suit jacket indicated that weapons were stored there, judging by their length, Bond amounted that it was handguns, perhaps revolvers. These were the bare bones of his appearance, the right side of his head was scarred, disfigured to such an extent that the hair there had gone, leaving a pot marked façade. His eyes were glaring, piercing everyone in the room as if he knew there was somebody there that shouldn't be. The hair he had had been gelled back in a hurry, he didn't bother trying to cover his disfigurement with a toupee or a hat, he didn't care; countless were the shocked eyes that had fell upon him over the years, and now he was immune to it. Across the hall, opposite from the piano sat 005, he was a mirror image of Bond save for Bond's hair being black and 005's a pale blond. He caught Bond's eye and walked over, his swagger not nearly as prowling as Bond, 005 still had work to do if he wanted to recreate Bond's animalistic pace. "Ah ... Bond" sounded the voice of 005. He seemed a little too joyful, considering the intensity of such a mission. "Am I glad to see you. I really think we should start straight away. I believe that chap, there, at the top of the stairs standing with that waiter, may know more than think" "Who is this chap exactly?" asked Bond, walking with 005 to the bar. "Well, he is a loyal bodyguard of Vice's. He's been working for him for around ten years. They've become very close, and he is almost seen in Vice's eyes, as the only man needed to protect him. His born identity and name is unknown, but he is refereed to as Scar-Face. He's been eyeing towards me all evening. He may be one step ahead of our gain" Bond glanced over towards Vice's bodyguard, and smirked, "How original" Bond noticed the waiter was now making his way down the purple robed staircase, towards the bar, towards the two men. The waiter came to the attention of the men at the bar. "Martini, shaken, not stirred" was the calling card of the British spy. He knew what he liked, what he wanted. 005 saw it as inappropriate to drink whilst working in close courtiers of a case. This was something Bond did not take into account. The waiter produced Bond's drink, whilst all the while glancing over Bond; almost surveying him. "Your drink, James" said the waiter. Bond was taken a-back by the waiters' use of his first name. He took a closer look at the waiter. He was a well- built man, similar to Bond himself. His hair was short, and blonde, almost a golden colour. The hair was neatly parted along the right side of his head. The waiter put his hand into his left hand pocket, and produced a napkin. Embroidered into the white napkin, in one of the corners, were the black letters; H.H. The waiter was Hormel. "Hormel, Is all in place?" asked the now more relaxed Bond "All is at ease Bond, yes" came Hormel's reply. The room around them was slowly filling with guests. All looking as though they were from an old painting. Everyone was elegantly dressed. Bond's eyes caught sight of the alluring young woman in the red dress. "Hormel, I'm a little tetchy about Vice's bodyguard. The one you were stood near towards, at the balcony of the staircase." asked 005 "Don't worry. He is instructed to stay at that position all evening. All is sorted 005; don't let worries compromise the mission." Hormel had worked on many jobs. He was most experienced. He and Bond had been assigned together on a relative amount of duties. "Now..." voiced Bond. He'd been occupied glancing around the magnificent room for Vice. He had been so far unsuccessful. "I recommend myself and 005 keep our eyes open for Vice, and anything suspicious. We've all been seen together for a fair while; we must now keep our distance" "I shall have to stay behind the bar area 007" said Hormel "Indeed. 005 if you and I speak socially with other guests." Explained Bond, sipping his Martini "Just keep your eyes on the job, 007, and not the guests" 005 made a suggestion towards the elegant young woman in red. A slight smirk crept across Bond's lips.  
  
Chapter 3 – The Red Dress and The Secret Agent  
  
Bond was speaking to an owner of a large oil refinery. The man wasn't very tall. Neither did he seem very fit. His large domed stomach and rounded face gave the impression of a wealthy fellow, who enjoyed his rich, extensive foods. Bond was pleasantly listening to the man reminisce about his recent trip to India, when he noticed a man. He was the man he had seen earlier, with the ravishing woman. The man had hair very similar to Bond's. He was wearing a dinner jacket. The figure stood erect, hands in pockets, with a sneering smile across his face. It was Vice again. The man was talking with two other gentlemen, of average size. The man with them was undoubtedly Vice. He had slick, tidy black hair. He was a relatively tall man. Bond guessed at about one and a half inches taller than himself. Vice had both of his hands within the vicinity of his tuxedo trousers pockets. The woman Bond had seen him with, was talking with another woman, over to Vice's right. As Bond glanced towards the woman, he noticed herself also, had been eyeing Bond. He smiled innocently at her. Her eyes said more than words ever could. She turned back to the woman she was speaking with. Bond looked back towards Vice, but he was no longer there. The two men previously conversing with Vice, were now stood as a single pair. He couldn't have left in that short a time. Bond looked around, and with at least 30 or 40 people strewn across a small distance, it was difficult to identify one from another. Then his eye caught sight of a woman, the reason she caught his eye was not due to outstanding beauty, quite the opposite. She was a small woman, auburn coloured hair, and glasses. Her choice of clothing was unlike any other female in the room. A long drab skirt covered her legs, and an equally lifeless sunburnt cardigan set across her front. She was headed towards a chap in the far left hand corner of the room. The figure stood waiting for the woman, was Vice. Bond kept his eyes attentively towards Vice, and the female. The must have been conversed for no more than a minute, when the woman took something from her cardigan, and placed it towards Vice, who swiftly entered the item to his inside right jacket pocket. The female then darted straight from Vice, and had soon exited back into the cold outside. This couldn't have been a more suitable time for Bond to confront the very man this operation was intended for. And Bond knew it. He could see 005 was busy, he was talking with a small group of males, who looked for more important and established than 005 himself. Bond knew what he was to do, and he was not one for waiting for better opportunities. 007 composed himself, and sauntered in the direction of Vice. As he made his way forward, he brushed passed the young lady of Vice's, the woman bind in the warmth of the red. Once again, a delightful smile was conveyed across her perfectly constructed features. She brushed past, but was soon out of reach. Vice was speaking to couple when Bond reached him. Bond slipped himself next to the woman and Vice. From what Bond could pick up, Vice had been telling a humorous anecdote. Vice now had a drink in his right arm, closest to Bond. "I don't believe we've met...Mr?" came the deep cold voice of Vice. His English was excellent. "Donaldson, James Donaldson. You must be Mr Rixel Vice, I assume?" Vice gave Bond a cold look of concern. "Why Yes, the very same. Enjoying yourself Mr Donaldson?" the question disquieted an otherwise composed Bond. "It's been a pleasing evening all round, yes. I must say, your lady friend his quite an eye full" Bond made a hand suggestion towards the young woman. "She is indeed Mr Donaldson. Lucile has a remarkable figure, and is intelligent also. She does look dazzling this evening." As Vice turned to look at Lucile, Bond took his opportunity. He compressed a concealed button built-in to his watch, and from the end came popped out two shots of poisonous, clear liquid, which Bond inconspicuously took and slipped into Vice's drink. "Will you excuse me, Mr Donaldson; there is something I must attend to." Vice downed his drink and turned away from Bond, and began to go. "Of course, don't get rushed off your feet now" Bond quipped. Bond went back to the large chap he'd spoken to earlier, not taking notice of Vice's whereabouts. Vice walked over to the bar. He called over the waiter. Hormel happened to appear to his attention. He whispered something to him, and went over to Lucile. Hormel exited the bar, heading to the stairs. Stood with a small group of gentlemen and their wives, was 005. He had kept one eye on Bond throughout the evening. He had true faith in Bond, as most did. 005 respected him in way almost like a younger brother looks up to his elders. He wanted to be everything James was, and he tried. He had noticed Bond had left Vice, and was now conversing with others. He was about to go over to join him, and check what information he had picked up on Vice, when he heard someone call him. He turned to see Hormel at the bar wanted his attention. He walked across to Hormel. "Phone call for you William" explain Hormel "I believe its Mrs Hanford" "Oh, is it just through here?" asked 005, suggesting the small door next to bar, which was ajar. Hormel nodded, and he entered. The room was rectangular, with two large windows on either side of the walls. At one end was a desk. He walked towards the desk, expecting a telephone. As he reached the desk, a sudden pressure was forced around his small neck. He swung his left arm behind him, which thundered into the figure stood behind him. The figure backed away, and 005 turned around. He came face to face with Vice's bodyguard, Scar-Face. The man's face seemed glorified, in a sense, with the deep lights. The man clutched 005 by the arms, and threw him across the desk. 005 got back up, picked up lamp, which had fallen to the floor, and managed to slash it across the man's head. Scar-Face seemed unaffected, and was soon getting back up. He grabbed 005 by the neck, and pressed him up against a cupboard, but 005 managed to knock the shelf down upon Scar-Face, and with a swing of his arm, knocked him to the floor. Unfortunately Scar-Face would not give up that easily. He punched 005 across to one of the stain glass windows, and with a hefty swing with his elbow, thumped him through the window. He fell down only a single floor, to fall onto the open prongs of the security gates. Scar-Face left the scene, his job done; and in the room opposite stood Bond, a job in hand, unaware of the fatality of his partner.  
  
Chapter 4 – One Down, Two To Go  
  
Bond could see that the drink he had drugged was starting to take effect; Vice's eyes were drooping every now and again, and soon he would be flat out unconscious. Bond planned that if Vice were to find a bed before he collapsed, the Ambassador would provide him with a room, in which case, Hormel would have access to him. Bond was sure that whatever that stern and very masculine woman had handed to Vice earlier would have some value for the assignment, as they both tried to made sure nobody could see the transaction. 


End file.
